maybe I have gotten not so great again but I am not a failure. I know that good days will come and I just have to take it one day at a time. healing and growing is always a process and I am okay with continuing with it throughout my life. I will get better, there are good days to come.
i’m lonely and
i don’t know how to make
it sound like poetry
it’s just that i used to fall into friendships.
it’s just that most days i want to fall into
my bed or
and these bones are too
fragile for show and tell
and i’m like muesli with worse mental health and i don’t want anyone to look at me except that i want everyone to look at me and i don’t know what to say i don’t know what to say i don’t know what to say to anyone anyway and last year my best friend
Arthur stood by Merlin’s side in silence, staring out the glass cabin, as the white metal skeleton of the monstrous wheel lifted them over London.
“Your kingdom, sire,” Merlin said, looking over at him with all the devotion Arthur remembered from so long ago. His words were soft and reverent, and yet they held echoes of ancient power, as if by speaking them he were gifting his king the modern city that stretched to the distant horizon.
Arthur turned to face him, shoulders pushed back, meeting Merlin’s determined gaze with one of our own. “Our kingdom,” he corrected.
Merlin smiled in response, soft and sad and full of adoration. “I don’t want the kingdom,” he said. “I only want its king.”
Arthur felt his breath catch, his throat going tight, overwhelmed again by all that Merlin was, and all that he’d done for him, both in their lives in Camelot as well as in that horrible separation that had followed.
Lifetimes, Arthur thought. Lifetimes he waited for me. And alone. Oh god, so alone-
Arthur stepped forward, cupping the sides of Merlin’s face in his hands, to gently kiss him, over and over, small soft things that told the miraculous man at his side again and again that of course Arthur was his, just as he was Arthur’s, just as it was always meant to be.